


doom days

by Acacius



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: (aka nandor realizes he feels deeply for guillermo but will deny it to everyone), Character Study, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, basically i just wanted to write nandor being soft so here we are, oh also nandor still remembers/speaks farsi/persian in this bc i say so, written at the end of s1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacius/pseuds/Acacius
Summary: After being ambushed by a group of genuinely dangerous and cruel vampire hunters, Guillermo and an injured Nandor are thrown into a dungeon together. Unsure of whether they'll survive the night, they finally settle down and have a heart-to-heart conversation.
Relationships: Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 230





	doom days

**Author's Note:**

> 90% of this was written just after the finale of s1 aired so apologies for any canon-breaking moments. it's not perfect but i wanted to contribute a bit more to this lil canoe of a fandom so... hope y'all enjoy :) oh, also title shamelessly stolen from the absolute banger of an album that is 'doom days' by bastille. it's a 2020 bop if y'know what i mean.

Guillermo fiddles with the metal chain of the cross around his neck, an inkling of nervousness apparent in his constant fidgeting. He keeps his gaze glued to the creaking wooden floor beneath him, consciously ignoring the pacing shadow of a certain vampire who had, already, used up a good deal of his energy keeping his familiar from being caught in the clash of cross bolts and flaming arrows.

The guilt was eating Guillermo alive.

“Stop… that,” Nandor says mid-stride, face twisting in a grimace. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But,” Guillermo begins, “it’s my fault. I deserve—“

“Quiet, Guillermo,” Nandor hushes. “What could you do? You’re just a human. They were vampire hunters.” The man punctuates his statement with a heavy sigh, finally sliding down against the wall. “It’s a shame they took out all the alcohol-blood I had bottled in this room. I’d kill for a drink.”

“Me too…” Guillermo trails, fingers brushing against the dark fabric of Nandor’s cloak with envy. The makeshift dungeon that the Staten Island vampires had made in their home was the one room without any form of heating. It was also the only room that was so aptly fortified that even a vampire couldn’t escape, hence the vampire hunters’ decision to throw Nandor and Guillermo into it.

The familiar could still recall the jeers of the hunters, laughing as they forced Nandor into the corner of the dungeon by brandishing crucifixes (they had brandished garlic at first, but immediately switched to crucifixes when Nandor smacked a clove out of one of the hunter’s hands with a hiss). He remembered how they had shoved him into the room with Nandor despite knowing he was human, making jokes at his expense.

“Hope you enjoy your last meal, leech.” One of the hunters chuckled, roughly pushing Guillermo into the room.

Nandor reaches out to catch Guillermo before he can fall, baring his teeth at the nearest hunter. “Hey, hey, hey! No bullying my familiar. Only I’m allowed to do that!”

“Shut your mouth, freak. You should be grateful we’re even giving you a snack.”

“He’s not a snack,” Nandor replies adamantly. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Probably because I’m a human living in a home with four other vampires.”

“Oh.” Nandor nods with realization. “Well, when you say it like that…”

Nandor cocks his head to the side, raising his hand to his chin in a thoughtful motion. His voice is enough to bring Guillermo back into the present. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink. Alcohol, that is. Why is that?”

Guillermo looks away, pretending to clean his glasses with the hem of his sweater. “W-well, that would be unprofessional of me, wouldn’t it? Getting drunk on the job?”

Nandor blinks, momentarily at a loss for words. He hadn’t even thought of that. “Yes, I suppose it would be. You are…” the vampire pauses, fighting between what he wants to say versus what he should say. Later, he’d chalk it up to a moment of weakness at the expense of having to fight against a dozen or so hunters, but the words that slip past his lips are as genuine as they were the night when he had dropped Guillermo whilst flying and landed him in a hospital bed. “A good familiar. And friend.”

“Friend?” Guillermo says, so hopeful that Nandor feels an unfamiliar ache in his chest at the wide grin his familiar gives him. It’s like being stabbed in the chest with a rusty sword, he thinks, recalling a rather unfortunate misunderstanding between himself and a peasant he had asked for directions one moonlit night centuries ago. Though, perhaps, this feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

No, it wasn’t even painful in the traditional ‘holy water’ or ‘stepping on consecrated ground’ sense. The bloom of warmth he felt and the ache afterwards served as a reminder of just how much Nandor did care for his familiar—no matter how hard he tried to distance himself. No matter how hard he tried to deny it. Which was why Nandor let his cold-hearted retort slip away in favor of something a bit more genuine. After all, he didn’t know if either of them were truly going to survive the next twenty-four hours.

“…Yes. You are my friend. Perhaps even my best friend, but you can’t tell Nadja or Laszlo.” Nandor waves a hand a moment later. “Actually, we’ll both probably be dead before we see those cowards again so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’re-my-best-friend-too,” Guillermo replies, words strung so close together that if Nandor weren’t used to his familiar’s voice, he likely wouldn’t have caught what the man had said at all. When Nandor smiles this time, it’s less like an animal baring its teeth, and more like something a human would do after seeing something they found amusing. It’s a bit of a crooked smile, one fang jutting dangerously close to piercing his own lip, but it’s warm, the crinkle at the corners of Nandor’s dark eyes adding to the genuine show of emotion.

It’s a behavior that is so utterly imperfect and human, a reminder as to why Guillermo had put up with all of the vampire’s eccentricities for the past decade. Nandor—hell, even the rest of the Staten Island vampires—weren’t monsters. They did do monstrous things from time to time (sometimes to survive, sometimes not), but they were, fundamentally, still human despite the acquisition of fangs and bloodlust. They were human where it mattered. They still felt emotion, grew attached to people and things, made families for themselves, developed hobbies and quirks, and, on rare occasions, performed acts of complete selflessness.

Guillermo’s gaze traveled to Nandor’s cloak once more, the golden embroidery singed around the edges. A gaping hole in the fabric could be seen near the vampire’s neck where a cross-bolt had barely missed digging into the smooth skin of Nandor’s throat. He could have easily dissipated in a fog of smoke or flitted away as a bat like Laszlo and Nadja had done once they had realized how many hunters had come to their door, but he hadn’t. Nandor had stayed and protected him.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Nandor wasn’t good at talking about his feelings—if anything, his words were a buffer, a shield to guard his heart and mind. But if someone were to truly pay attention to him they’d know that Nandor spoke through actions rather than words.

Little acts of kindness, as Guillermo called them. The glitter mosaic, gifted on the anniversary of their contract as master and familiar, somehow depicting a recreation of Guillermo as a vampire look-alike to Armand, Guillermo’s favorite fictional vampire. Guillermo’s off-hand remark about wanting to fly coming true as Nandor spun him around the drawing room, holding him up effortlessly so he could watch himself float in the mirror’s reflection. Insisting, even to the point of death, that Guillermo wasn’t food to the Vampire Council. And, most recently, shielding Guillermo from a volley of arrows, not even hesitating to do so even as the other vampires flew away. It was all instinct, the urge to protect Guillermo, and it was something that his words could not hide.

In truth, it was unfortunately easy to grow fond of Nandor. The thought settled anxiously in Guillermo’s chest. Even if he were turned into a vampire, he sincerely doubted he would be able to leave Nandor.

“I’m sorry about your cloak.” Guillermo said in lieu of exploring his own tumultuous emotions. He scooted closer, sucking in a breath as he noticed the darker stains in the fabric. Blood. Nandor’s blood.

The vampire gave him a pointed look. “Guillermo, you don’t need to apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Were you the hunter that loosed the arrow? No? Then you are not at fault. It’s as simple as that.”

“But you wouldn’t have even been in this situation if I hadn’t sent your DNA to be tested.”

Nandor nodded. “Well… that may be true, but I also wouldn’t have known that I had a living descendant. My poor Madeline. Still, just knowing she was alive at the same time as me was a gift. You humans die so young.”

“She was in her nineties, Master.”

Nandor sniffled. “See? She hadn’t even seen her first century.”

“Most humans don’t.”

“How old are you, Guillermo?”

“Thirty-three.”

Nandor chuckled fondly. “That’s how old I was when I was turned. What a coincidence.”

“Really?”

A far away look drifted over the vampire’s eyes. “Yes. You know, there are some things I do miss about being human.”

“Like what?”

“Dreaming. Watching the sunrise. Sharing food with your friends.” Nandor grimaced. “You can share victims, sure, but it’s not the same. Bread doesn’t really squirm and scream, you know?”

There was a familiar sadness in Nandor’s expression, something Guillermo had witnessed when Madeline had died. Unlike before, when he had accidentally thrown holy water onto the grieving vampire, he wanted to do something that would actually soothe the man. In a fit of bravery, perhaps because he knew that, barring a miracle, he was likely going to die in the locked room, Guillermo covered Nandor’s hand with his own, fighting off the blush that threatened to cover his entire face.

Nandor stared open-mouthed at where their hands were joined, working his jaw as he struggled to respond. At first, his words only came out in Persian, unable to focus long enough to translate his thoughts into English. With a frustrated hiss, Nandor finally pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Guillermo, you can’t just do that!”

“D-do what? Touch you?”

“Yes!” Nandor replied, growling a moment later at his own ineptitude with words. He pulled his ruined cloak further around himself as if it were a blanket he could hide under, embarrassment tinting his voice. “I mean no! That’s not it! Your skin’s all… flushed. It’s distracting. How am I supposed to think if you’re sitting right next to me, all blood-filled and delicious?”

Guillermo had to bite his tongue to keep himself from reminding the vampire that he was the one who decided to sit beside Guillermo in the corner of the dungeon in the first place. “Right. I’m sorry. I’ll move, since I can’t really stop producing blood without dying.” As he moved to stand, he felt a cold hand encircle his wrist.

“No… I’ll be fine. Don’t move. Please.” Nandor could feel the man’s pulse elevate the moment he tightened his grip. The once steady drum of his pulse had become a rapid staccato and while the sound of someone’s pulse had never exactly been comforting to Nandor (he had heard too many hearts pitter out to really think of a heartbeat as anything but a ticking bomb), he knew he preferred how Guillermo’s pulse sounded when he was relaxed and calm.

He dropped Guillermo’s wrist, voice softening. “Actually, just do what you want. That’s an order.”

Like approaching a cornered animal, Guillermo sat back down, placing his hand on top of Nandor’s again. At the contact, Nandor bristled with a hiss, but calmed down quickly when Guillermo spoke, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the back of Nandor’s palm. “You’re colder than normal, Master. Is there anything I can do?”

Nandor shook his head. “I’m just… a bit hungry. And tired. It must be morning by now.” he finished lamely, unable to do much else with Guillermo’s frustratingly warm fingers stroking his hand. He felt a headache slithering at the base of his skull, the scent of human blood making him dizzy.

For someone unused to tempering their hunger, Nandor had a surprisingly easy time curbing his bloodlust when it came to Guillermo. Once he had gotten to know the man, he didn’t bat an eye at the scent of Guillermo’s blood—paper cuts, kitchen accidents, bone-saw accidents (rare, thankfully, now that the man was adept at using a bone-saw to dismember victims), didn’t rouse anything but concern in Nandor. Even now, as injured and tired and hungry as he was, Nandor found himself curling closer to the other man—not in the hopes of nicking a vein, but because, against all logic, he found his presence comforting.

Guillermo looked at his watch, giving a long, drawn-out yawn. Whatever nervousness he had been feeling before was slowly being buried under a marrow-deep yearning for sleep. “Yeah, it’s just past 7:00am. We’ve been here all night.”

Nandor slipped down onto the floor, gesturing to Guillermo’s legs, which were splayed out in front of him. “May I?” he pantomimed the act of sleeping, pretending his clasped hands were a pillow and gave a comically poor attempt at a snore.

Guillermo’s lips quirked up, fighting what would have likely been a laughing fit. “S-sure,” he breathed, the last dregs of sleep-deprived giddiness melting away as he felt the weight of Nandor’s head on his lap.

 _Oh._ The vampire made a pleased hum in the back of his throat reminiscent of a purr, and Guillermo couldn’t stop his own small squeak in response. Nandor, as well as the other vampires, all exhibited a blatant disregard of his personal space, but this was decidedly different. Usually, the vampire merely crowded him, sitting perhaps a bit too close, or, on a few occasions, sitting directly on top of Guillermo’s legs.This was dangerously close to cuddling, he realized, not at all displeased by the conclusion his sleep-addled brain had conjured up. 

“You’re quite comfy, Guillermo,” Nandor said, eyes fluttering closed.

“…Thank you?” Guillermo finally responded, wondering faintly if he was dreaming.

Nandor shifted and suddenly there was a hand reaching up towards his face. Guillermo froze; it was definitely not a dream.

Gently, Nandor lifted Guillermo’s glasses from the perch of his nose and tucked them to the side. “You should sleep too.”

“But, what if the hunters come back while we’re asleep?”

“It’s fine. I’ll sense that they’re here before they even open the door… and I’ll protect you.”

At the vampire’s words, Guillermo couldn’t help but speak up—the guilt of it all truly would eat him alive if he didn’t at least try and explain himself. “I have to tell you something. I’m… I’m sorry. It’s my fault the hunters are here. And I’m sorry that I ever thought of joining them. You see... I’m a descendent of Van Helsing.”

Nandor, however, had already fallen asleep.

“Well… I did try,” Guillermo muttered to himself, unable to keep sleep at bay any longer. He too fell asleep soundly, one hand draped protectively over Nandor’s shoulder.

* * *

Nandor wakes to the sound of a slow, peaceful heartbeat. Vision still bleary with sleep, the vampire mutters something unintelligible, turning over to press more firmly against his familiar’s legs. He wanted to get closer to the warmth, to the scent that has teased him for the last decade. Guillermo’s blood had called to him from the beginning—but now it was for an entirely different reason. He was the one constant human fixture at his side, someone Nandor had grown to care for deeply despite his usual misgivings about growing close to humans—of growing close to something that death could touch. His scent and presence was as much a temptation as it was a comfort, a balm even now in his hungry state.

Guillermo jolts awake at the feeling of Nandor’s fingers digging into meat of his thigh, unable to suppress his own gasp of surprise. The vampire hunter gene’s inside him rebel at the sight of a vampire resting his head in his lap, sneers at the image of a fanged beast sprawled comfortably beside him, disgust welling up at the chill of Nandor’s fingers curled against the fabric of his trousers, body temperature as cold as a corpse due to the vampire’s need for blood.

 _You could kill him so easily right now,_ some dark corner of his mind whispers, soft and tantalizing. _Drive one of the wooden wall sconces into his chest, watch as he slowly withers to dust beneath your own hands. Free yourself from this life and join the hunters. Find your real family, the human kind, those that will accept and appreciate you for your gifts. Meet destiny unflinchingly and become what you were always meant to be…_

But, the louder, more insistent part of his brain tells him a different story. It sees Nandor and instead of a monster, it sees the man inside—the one Guillermo can’t help but adore. The man that he knows would never raise even a finger against him. It is a thought that gives him all the confidence he needs to begin combing Nandor’s hair with his fingers, nimbly pulling apart any knots in his dark locks.

At the gentle ministrations, Nandor awakens fully, fangs on full display as he grins, humming appreciatively.

“Good morning, master,” Guillermo says, still combing through the vampire’s hair.

“Good morning, Guillermo.” Nandor leans into the touch, basking in the moment of intimacy. In truth, having his hair brushed by Guillermo was one of the things he looked forward to the most. Even stuck in a cramped dungeon room didn’t change that. “I hope you slept well. My head wasn’t too heavy, was it?” the vampire adds as an afterthought, slowly rising to a sitting position to allow his familiar better access to his hair.

“No, of course not,” Guillermo replies, smiling. “It was… nice.” In truth, Guillermo’s back hurt immensely from his sleeping position, having sat up the entire night as Nandor rested his head in his lap, but it was a small price to pay for the show of innate trust Nandor had in him.

Before Nandor can respond, he senses them. Three vampires. His vampires. His roommates. His friends. _His family_. The realization is almost enough to bring him to tears. They had come back for him despite it all—because they loved him.

After leaving the dungeon room, Nandor and Guillermo find out that the trio had actually escaped to get help—somehow enlisting the help of werewolves to defeat the vampire hunters who had actually seen all supernatural creatures as a bane on the earth. It is only a few hours later after a hunt when Nandor, sated and no longer dressed in his blood-stained attire, seeks out Guillermo in his room.

“Hug?” he asks almost shyly, approaching the threshold to the bedroom with some nervousness, recalling his last hug with Collin before the vampire hunter incident. Nandor hadn’t always been such a tactile person, but immortality had a funny way of making him more emotionally vulnerable, as if to make up for his physical invulnerability.

At this, Guillermo nods, opening up his arms. “Anytime, master.”

Nandor can’t help but clutch his familiar a bit tighter than necessary, relishing in the man’s warm, steady pulse, in the way Guillermo always seemed to know what to say or do to comfort him. He feels Guillermo’s hand rub comforting circles against his back as they sway slightly, the hug lasting much longer than the one he shared with Lazlo and Nadja.

“Thank you, Guillermo. For always being at my side.”

Guillermo tips his head up to meet Nandor’s gaze, brown eyes softening at the unguarded expression of adoration that the vampire was giving him. It felt like their relationship had shifted, tilted into something akin to balanced. An understanding they didn’t have before. When he speaks, it’s as if it’s a confession, one that he only now realized to be true. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

His words only make Nandor hug him even tighter.


End file.
